By Royal Command (30 page)

There was a fierce gunfight in progress between Dr Friend’s German agents and another group of men wearing dark mountaineering outfits.

‘Who are they?’ said Roan.

‘God knows,’ said James. ‘But they just might have saved our bacon.’

The Germans appeared to be losing and were being driven back into the castle.

‘What are we going to do?’ asked Roan, but before James could reply a German agent armed with a Luger appeared from further along the wall. He yelled at them and then started firing.

James and Roan broke away and ran back down the steps in a mad scramble. When they hit the bottom James glanced back. The man was taking careful aim, but then there came the evil chatter of a machine-gun and bullets raked along the top of the wall. The German gave a cry and tumbled forwards, landing in the courtyard with a nasty wet slap.

James and Roan carried on running, away from the fire-fight, but as they reached the far side of the courtyard a bizarre sight met them.

Dr Friend had come out of the building and was limping stiff-legged towards them across the cobblestones, Wrangel’s Luger swaying in his hand. He had been standing next to one of the shelves of surgical instruments and had obviously taken the worst of the blast. The whole of the left side of his body was studded with debris. Knives, scalpels, syringes, odd-shaped pieces of broken metal and shards of glass stuck out of him grotesquely. They were in his face, his shoulder, his arm and ribs, even down his legs.

There was still no expression on his face and without his glasses his stare was vague and unfocused.

But he recognised James.

‘Bond,’ he hissed, and loosed off a shot.

His aim was wide, the bullet ricocheted harmlessly off the cobbles, but it would only be a matter of time before he found his target.

‘Come on,’ James shouted, grabbing Roan by the arm. ‘We’ll just have to take our chances out there.’

They dashed back across the courtyard towards the archway that led through to the front of the Schloss, two more bullets whining past them like angry wasps. As they careered through the arch Friend fired again. This time the bullet was closer. It bit into the stonework inches from James’s head, sending up chips of granite and dust.

They emerged into the open space of the main courtyard and passed a long, cream-coloured Mercedes-Benz 770 saloon, its doors hanging open, a man crouching in the driver’s seat with his arms folded around his head.

Mercifully the battle seemed to have moved on. There was nobody between them and the big double gates that were standing half open. Beyond the gates was the open road and freedom.

‘That way,’ James yelled, and he pulled hard on Roan’s arm. There was almost immediately another shot and Roan gasped.

James spun round.

‘Are you hit?’

‘No… My ankle. It’s twisted.’

She couldn’t put her weight on one leg. So James put his arm under her shoulder and half-dragged, half-carried her towards the gates. He looked back at Dr Friend, who was on the far side of the courtyard, staggering on, dropping bits of glass and surgical tools with each step.

Surely he was too far away to do any damage…

They came to the gate and James pushed Roan through to safety. He had to delay Friend, though. He leant his weight against the ancient dark wood of one of the gates and heaved. It swung shut and he moved to the other, but as he did so a searing pain burned across his temple and something ploughed through his hair. A moment later there came a boom that seemed to sound right inside his head and a distant crack.

He lost all control of his limbs.

He was going down.

He heard Roan scream his name and then he was wading through treacly blackness as a vice tightened round his skull.

He tried to say something, to reassure Roan that he was all right, but nothing came out and the blackness swallowed him whole.

31

Diamond Heart

Roan was lying in the road in an untidy sprawl. She had had no time to do anything but watch helplessly as Dr Friend had swung his arm across the open expanse of courtyard and fired towards the gates. She had seen the bullet strike James’s head and she had screamed as he fell. When she had started to go to him, however, someone had grabbed her and thrown her to the ground.

It was a woman, dressed all in grey.

For a moment Roan was too dazed to move. She saw the woman step into the half-open gateway and raise a pistol.

She fired a single shot at Dr Friend.

Roan watched the bullet punch into the centre of his perfect face and emerge from the back of his head in a spray of brains and blood.

The woman now slipped her gun inside her tunic as she turned from the gateway and looked down at Roan.

She stood there with her legs planted widely apart, a solid and immovable object, her clothes too tight for her bulky frame. She had short grey hair and a wide, square, peasant’s face.

‘My name is Colonel Sedova,’ she said. ‘But most call me Babushka, the grandmother. I am with the Soviet secret police. You have caused us a great deal of trouble, Miss Power.’

‘You know me?’ said Roan.

‘I have been on your trail for weeks, ever since I uncovered the Nazi plot in Lisbon. At first I only knew you by your code-name, Diamond. Then, when the trail led me to Eton, I at last learnt your name. But sadly you and Bond went on the run before I could get to you. We have slowly pieced together the details of Operation Snow-Blind, but until now we were never sure of the whereabouts, or the real name, of the man behind it – Obsidian. I now know everything.’

‘Then you’ll know that I thought I was working for you,’ said Roan, struggling to her feet and standing awkwardly, her twisted ankle sending darts of pain up her leg. ‘I didn’t know who Obsidian was either. I knew nothing about Doctor Friend, or the Graf, or any of this. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was working for the struggle.’

‘I understand,’ said Babushka softly. ‘You were tricked. You could not have known.’

A thickset man with a scar across his face came through the gates carrying a rifle. He glanced back towards the castle. The shooting appeared to have stopped. He said something to the colonel in Russian and she nodded towards Roan.

The man slung his rifle over his shoulder, drew a pistol from his belt and casually aimed it at Roan.

‘What are you doing?’ said Roan. ‘I’m on your side. You said you understood.’

‘If only we had got to you first,’ said Babushka, ‘how different things might have been. We have a great need of women like you.’

‘I’ll gladly come back to Moscow with you,’ said Roan. ‘I’ll do anything you ask of me. All I want is to be able to help the communist cause.’

‘Yes,’ said Babushka, ‘but can we trust you?’

She looked down at the body of James Bond, lying still in the gravel.

Roan looked, too. She wanted desperately to go to him, but she was terrified of the Russians.

‘Of course you can trust me,’ she said. ‘Did you not just see Doctor Friend try to kill me?’

‘This whole thing is a mess,’ said Babushka. ‘If we had been successful in Calais, you would have been spared all this. But the boy outwitted us, I am afraid. It was through him, though, that we eventually tracked you down. After Calais, we put all our operatives on to the case to work out where you might have been heading. We looked into Bond’s recent history and one of our guesses was that he might be coming back here, to Kitzbühel. So we put an agent in place, an Englishman called Nicholson. Unfortunately you decided to deliver Bond into the enemy’s hands just before I arrived with my men. Nicholson followed you yesterday and luckily he recognised the cars from here.’

‘Now here you are,’ said Roan, forcing a smile, ‘and, as they say, all’s well that ends well.’

‘Is it ended?’ asked Babushka.

‘Doctor Friend is dead,’ said Roan. ‘This base is finished.’

‘And what of Bond?’

‘What of me?’ said James, sitting up.

‘Oh, James, thank God you’re all right,’ said Roan, fighting back tears.

‘I’m not so sure I am all right,’ said James. ‘But I’m awake at least. I’ve got the devil of a headache, though.’

‘Doctor Friend’s bullet merely creased your temple,’ said Babushka.

James put a hand to his head; there was a little blood, but nothing worse than a scalded scratch. He got shakily to his feet.

‘Colonel Sedova is a Russian,’ said Roan. ‘She’s come to –’

‘I know who Colonel Sedova is,’ James interrupted. ‘And I know why she’s here. I heard everything.’

Babushka muttered something to the OGPU man and he swivelled his gun towards James.

‘This situation is very familiar,’ said Babushka. ‘Once before, in London, you held
me
at gunpoint. I asked you, as one soldier to another, to let me walk away.’

‘And I let you go,’ said James.

‘I suppose I should do the same now,’ said Babushka.

‘Your fight’s not with me,’ said James.

‘Isn’t it?’

‘No. If anything, you should thank me for stopping Dandy. If his bomb had gone off your lot would really be in the stink.’

‘My fight is against all enemies of the state,’ said Babushka.

‘I hardly think I pose much of a threat to the mighty communist empire,’ said James.

‘You would be very valuable to us, James. The British hold several of my agents. I could exchange you for them.’

‘I’m not coming to Russia with you,’ said James flatly.

‘I can offer you two choices,’ said Babushka. ‘I can take you with me, or I can shoot you now and have done with it.’

‘Then shoot me,’ said James, wearily rubbing his head, ‘because I’m not coming with you.’

Babushka laughed. ‘You are a brave young man.’

‘I am a tired young man. I’ve had my fill of fighting.’

‘Let him go,’ said Roan. ‘He helped me escape. He has no argument with you.’

‘Keep out of this,’ snapped Babushka. ‘This is none of your business.’

‘It is
so
my business,’ said Roan angrily. ‘James and I are in this together.’

‘What do you care about him? You tried to deliver him up yourself.’

‘I was wrong. I know that now. I was trying to save my own neck. It was a dirty thing to do.’

James looked Babushka in the eye.

‘Did my letting you go that time in London mean nothing?’ he asked.

Babushka was still. She was thinking. Weighing up the options in her mind.

‘I have made my decision,’ she said.

But James never learnt what that decision was, because at that moment all hell broke loose.

It began when a shot rang out and the OGPU man at Babushka’s side fell with a sigh. At the same time there was a shout from the trees above the road. An English voice.

‘Put your hands up and throw down your weapons!’

Before James could work out what was going on he saw Babushka drag her pistol from her tunic.

‘I am sorry,’ she said and pulled the trigger.

James heard Roan shout ‘NO!’ as he threw himself to the side. He knew he wasn’t going to be quick enough, though, not at this range. Only a miracle could save him.

He hit the ground and noticed with a surge of relief that he was unhurt.

Maybe a miracle had happened.

But why was Roan lying at his side? And why was there blood on her white dress? Had she put herself between him and Babushka?

He was gripped with panic. He desperately wanted to check that she was all right. The fight wasn’t over, though. Three armed men were running down the hillside.

James could see that Babushka was torn between firing at them and shooting at him again.

He didn’t hesitate. In one move he rolled over, grabbed the gun that had been dropped by the OGPU man, aimed it at Babushka’s chest and squeezed the trigger four times.

Babushka grunted and was thrown backwards into the rocks by the side of the road.

The next moment the three men arrived.

‘They weren’t going to shoot,’ said James bitterly as he got to his feet.

‘We couldn’t take the risk, son.’

The men were British, dressed in camouflaged outfits with knitted caps. They moved towards the castle, guns at the ready. A moment later Nevin appeared, carrying a sniper’s rifle with telescopic sights. For once he wasn’t wearing his trilby. He pulled James out of the road behind the cover of a rock.

‘Can’t be too careful,’ he said. ‘Are you all right, lad?’

‘I’m not shot if that’s what you mean,’ said James. ‘But let me go to Roan, she’s hurt.’

‘You stay here, it’s too dangerous.’

‘I’ve done all right so far without your help,’ James shouted. ‘I can’t just leave her lying in the road.’

‘I’ve not come all this way to lose you now, lad,’ said Nevin, holding James by the arm. ‘When we’re given the all-clear we’ll get out from behind this rock. Until then we stay put.’

‘You’re too late, Nevin,’ said James, tearing himself from the man’s grip. ‘You’ve missed the party.’

He stood up and looked over the rock.

Roan had gone.

Where she had been there was a small puddle of dark blood. More spots of it trailed away across the stony ground, skirting the Schloss before turning away on to a track that led up the mountainside.

‘She’s not dead,’ said James, grinning with relief.

A bullet sang through the air, fired from the castle walls. He’d been wrong – the party wasn’t over yet.

‘There’s another girl,’ said James. ‘She’s called Liesl. She’s hiding inside a shed in a rear courtyard. Make sure she’s all right, will you? Friend was holding her prisoner.’

‘Just stay back there,’ Nevin yelled, putting his sniper’s sights to his eye. ‘I’ll make sure she’s not hurt.’

James wasn’t listening. He ran in a low crouch towards the mountain path, keeping his head down, expecting at any moment to be hit by another bullet.

None came, and soon he was on the path and climbing away from the Schloss. Gradually the sounds of the battle dimmed.

It was happening to someone else now. He wasn’t a part of it any more. The gunshots might as well be firecrackers or jumping jacks.

He looked down at the road. There was no sign of Nevin. Babushka lay where she had fallen.

How many other people would be dead before the end of the day?

He ran as fast as he could now, his lungs burning. Once or twice he lost sight of the trail and had to stop and search for it, but for the most part there were spots of blood every few feet. Roan must be bleeding badly.

He crested a ridge and took one last look back. He could see the rooftops of the Schloss, men moving about; a group of them ran into the road.

James squinted.

Babushka had gone.

Maybe someone had taken her body?

She wasn’t his concern any more. Let Nevin deal with it.

All he had to worry about was Roan.

He carried on, climbing ever higher up the mountain. The air grew cooler; the sounds of the battle were quieter still.

Up and up he ran, through a tangle of tall pine trees, their scent filling the air. If it wasn’t for the ominous trail of blood on the ground, he might be out for a summer walk. A walk like those he had taken so many times before with Roan in the mountains.

The path emerged from the trees. Green patches of grass covered the rocky ground; here and there wild flowers grew.

And then, up ahead, he saw her. A tiny crumpled shape nestled in the lee of a rock. He sprinted over to her, praying that she was still alive.

When he got to her he saw that her eyes were open and her lips trembling.

Thank God.

He knelt down next to her and stroked her face. Her arms were folded tight across her chest. Beneath them, her dress was stained a vivid scarlet. She was shaking, her skin so white it looked luminous, her wide eyes black as night.

‘Darling,’ she murmured. ‘You made it.’

James took her in his arms and held her. She felt cold.

‘You’re going to be all right,’ he said. ‘I’ll get help. It’s over now; nobody’s trying to hurt you any more.’

‘Oh, that’d be nice,’ she said and smiled.

James looked at the blood. ‘What did you do, you fool?’ he said.

‘I wouldn’t let her, darling. Not after everything. I wouldn’t let her kill you.’

‘It’s the bravest thing anyone’s ever done,’ said James.

‘I don’t think I’m brave,’ said Roan quietly, and she shivered.

‘Why did you come all the way up here?’ asked James.

‘To find some quiet. No more noise. I love the mountains. I wanted to see some snow. I thought if I came up here I might find some.’